Today is a most spectacular day! Exactly one year ago, at this very minute, I was rolling around, floating like a butterfly and stinging like a bee, waiting for the tiny little tuna camped out in my tummy to come out and join our family. You can read that harrowing tale (about an evil midwife who sabotaged the fair maiden's chances for an epidural) here.
You came to the world itty and perfect. Just 6 lbs, 7 ounces with exactly four hairs on your little melon head... Today you are still perfect but not so tiny, weighing in at a hearty 24 lbs. Hair count up to 37. You have one, half-emerged, razor sharp, bottom tooth and two, almost-there, top teeth. You have big, pillowy lips, dark brown eyes, one dimple, and ample junk in the trunk. And right now, you are sitting next to me, showing a mighty-mini popsicle who's boss (it is your birthday, afterall). In fact, here is a picture of you at this very minute.
Oh, Baby Eve. You are such a squishable little heff, I can hardly contain myself around you. And I can hardly believe you are already one year old. There are so many things about your one-year-old self that astound, baffle and entertain me. I spend a great majority of the time I spend with you wheezing and snorting and chuckling away in amusement... and surfing the net. J/K. We spend a lot of time watching TV, too! J/K again. Kinda.
Ahem.
At the ripe age of ONE, you should know (in case it ever changes) that you are completely obsessed with your elder sister. You think everything she does is, like, the best thing ever. Even though she abuses you. It appears you have a full on case of abused wife syndrome. Cause you can't get enough. You've got the feva... and the only cure is more Leah. In fact, I get so annoyed and claustrophobic for you putting up with Leah's antics without standing up for yourself that I will, at times, strategically place you in prime "pulling Leah's hair" position, and then turn a blind eye to the chaos that ensues. I can't help it. And you're welcome.
See? See how much you love her?
I even catch some of your sisterly dynamic on film sometimes...
Your crush on Leah is problematic for me at times. Every time she gets in trouble, generally for pushing you down or some other unmentionable, you look at me with as much betrayal in your eyes as you can muster and shout around, trying to rescue Leah from "time out." This happens when your dad tucks Leah in at night as well. You feel utterly distraught and left out.
You hate baths. HATE them. Unless, of course, Leah joins you. Then all is well in the world. This vexes me greatly because, well, sometimes I don't have the energy to wash all of her hair.
Should Leah ever be in the bath alone, you lean over the tub, swatting at the water while she douses you in the face over and over. And you just take it. Because you're a good sister.
I can say proudly that you will sit and watch an entire episode of "Blue's Clues," which, in case you didn't know, is highly impressive for someone your age. I think that little dog speaks your language.
You shriek and slap my legs until I pick you up and then immediately put one pointy finger into the palm of the opposite hand to "mark it with a B." This means you want me to sing Patty Cake, and if I don't comply immediately, you begin swatting my face until you've beaten me into submission. Overall it's a very violent process, that patty cake. You would do it all day long if you could.
You love your daddy and squeal and screech and lurch across the room to him when he gets home from work. You especially love when he spends quality time teaching you important life lessons, like how to beat the final level of Angry Birds.
For your big day we took you to see, "Disney on Ice." Which was completely for you and not at all for your stinky big sister. I promise.
You clapped along with the crowd and shouted, "Oooo! Oooo!" when something spectacular happened and were a most excellent spectator... until the last half hour wherein you became disenchanted with all things princessey and attempted to ruin the rest of the show with heckling and foul language. This was remedied by inducing you into a good ol' fashioned cottoncandycoma.
And then we dined. And you stuffed your face with french fries to your little heart's content. And Leah's face melted into her neck...
Really, there's no excuse for Leah in this photo. Never seen anything like it in all my life.
Your very favorite of all of your birthday gifts this year was this magical contraption:
And, perhaps most importantly, people tell me all the time that you look exactly like me. 'Specially when I was a little, fat cherub. Which, of course, makes me love you above all...
Oh little Eve Sophia, I wish I could give you the world today. I'm so lucky to be your mama. Happy, Happy Birthday Teeny Tiny Tuna!
